I was
by superbanana
Summary: I know Iv already posted this but after some reviews thankyou virtella I thought I needed to make some alterations. It's about granny and her memories.


This was just an idea I had about Granny and what she really thinks. Reading without reviewing is like a broken pencil… pointless :)

These aren't my characters, but oh my days how I wish they were.

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She was a child once, she ran with her sister and they'd laugh with one another. Lily was always the more adventurous out of the two of them. She remembers her mam telling them how they weren't to go past the gorge every time they went out to play. She supposed it was just her that heard their mam's calls, she always told herself that there probably wasn't enough room to fit the warnings because Lily's head was always full of stories and crazy ideas, so she always listened enough for both of them. Lily just used to laugh when she reminded their of mam's rules; she always remembered watching her sisters blue eyes sparkle with the mischief that was always bound to happen when they ran around Lancre together. She was her big sister and in the winter, when the frost would cloud the glass and the privy door was frozen shut, they would sleep next to each other for warmth. Fondly she remembered that before each night they'd spend a good half hour covering the cracks in the windows so that no winter air could get in. We'd blow out the candle, Lily would talk and she'd laugh until the sun came up.

The night Lily ran off was one of those cold nights. She ran into their room crying and screaming at their mam that she'd regret what she had said about her. She remembers wanting to make her stay more than anything she'd ever wanted before. She kept taking her hand, trying to somehow tether Lily to herself but her sister just shook her off. She remembers wanting to cry but holding herself in, as the words of her granny ran through her head 'A Weatherwax never shows weakness'. She asked her sister why she was going and Lily – her beautiful, smart, funny big sister looked at her with those bright blue eyes - with _Esme's_ bright blue eyes and told her that she was just a stupid girl playing a game she'd never understand – that was the day her sister died and Lilith was born.

When she got her cottage the first thing she ever did was take out the panes of glass in her bedroom window. She told herself it was because when she went out borrowing it was simpler for the animals to get into the cottage after she was finished with her metaphorical piggy pack ride but at the back of her mind she heard laughter and her sisters voice telling she that she was stupid.

xxxxx

She was a girl once; she batted her eyelashes at the lads – well one lad. Mustrum was tall and thin. He had warm eyes and warm arms that he would tuck around her waist when they walked through her forests. All the other girls walked out with farmers and guards and ale sellers, but her Mustrum was a wizard in training. He stayed for one summer, the wheat was golden and she remembers those days better than she remembers the last few with her mother.

The pounding noises from the waterfall, the sensation of fear as she watched him dive into the raging currents. His lips on hers. His hands, yes, they had been warm to. His lovely brown eyes level with her blue ones. Lying next to each other, breathing hard, stupid smiles on both their faces. Exhilarated by what they had done, as the full moon illuminated their exposed bodies. That night she wanted to tell him that she loved him, as he did. Yelling it loudly, shouting over the roar of water like it was the simplest thing in the world.

The next morning she couldn't concentrate on anything – Gytha must have noticed but she never mentioned what she suspected. Nanny Gripes clipped her round the ear so often that summer, but she just didn't care. Life was simple when she was in love.

The night Mustrum proposed her heart almost shattered, it was fear that shaped her tongue into the word 'no' and pride that stopped her from telling him how much she loved him.

The carriage that took him back to Ankh-Morpork was dusted in grime from the road. She stood on the side of the Gorge, invisible, the rain falling in heavy droplets onto her face as she watched her man leave her. When the letters arrived she didn't even try to write back, but she couldn't destroy them either.

When she was older Esme always said that full moons weren't important and liking them meant you were just playing at being a witch but the memory of that full moon on that night… well, it still hurt to think of what could have been.

xxxxx

She was cheerful once. She wore a purple dress on one of Gytha's many wedding days, she held daisies limply in her hand and laughed at each grooms faraway look as he removed Gytha's garter with his teeth. Once her best friend grabbed her hand and dragged her off to dance with some man or other who looked terrified to be dancing with the ice maiden and newly initiated witch. On the third or fourth wedding, the girl Magrat shyly tugged on her skirt and told her all about how she wanted to be a witch someday, just like her. Esme doubts she remembers now, but she does.

Her mother died that same year. Her funeral was a quiet affair. Weatherwaxes were never popular and her father had been a hard man to like. He'd died years before and Esme had foreseen the imminent death so it wasn't too much of a shock when her mother passed on.

She heard the whispering of the old biddies as she passed around the ham sandwiches, trying to ignore the tingling down her fingers as the crones gossiped about how she being the only child and 'wasn't it a shame Esmeralda hadn't yet found a husband'.

That was when the clock stopped, the silence drowned her and she dropped the plate holding the sandwiches. It's ironic really. She didn't cry for her sister or Mustrum but something like the silencing of a clock's tick made her bawl like a baby. She sat in the goat shed until she'd calmed down enough to be seen by normal people. She washed her face with cold water in the bucket, somehow managing not to meet her own blue eyes in the waters reflection.

Some nights she sits in her kitchen and remembers the past no-one will ever know – not even Gytha. Sometimes in the stifling silence she lets herself remember the laughter of sisters at night or a full moons glow over sated bodies or the absence of a tick. Sometimes she wonders about the 'what if's' she never really accepted as possibilities. Sometimes she reads letters that are old and yellow with age. Sometimes she is human enough to remember and hurt.

However by the looks of things this won't be one of those nights. The silence is broken by a small boy barging through her door yelling for her to hurry because Goody Yerry's in a bad way. The birth was always going to be difficult, she knew.

She stands upright – the past forgotten as responsibilities are remembered. Grabbing her hat from the hook she rams it onto her carefully groomed hair and picks up the emergency bag and her broom. _Time to fly Esmerelda_, she tells herself as she runs up and down the garden trying to get the damn broom to start up. The sound of night air rushing past destroys the silence, She sighs quietly, refusing to admit how thankful she is of that fact.

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So, what do you think? Did you like it? Should I burn it? Only one way to tell me : )


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